


The first, and first, and first, and last and only

by MGNemesi



Series: From the Vault (OLD Nemestories, revamped) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A panic attack of sorts is dealt with very unrealistically, Boys In Love, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The First Avenger, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sappy, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, the same way Jeff Davis dealt with it in Teen Wolf TBH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MGNemesi/pseuds/MGNemesi
Summary: Their first kiss came in multiples.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I'll be frank. I wrote this back in 2011 to a prompt by ani-bester on LJ, and I'd TOTALLY forgotten about it until I saw it in a rec list.  
> I smiled and cringed both as I read. So I decided to rework it a bit, and............................ here's the bit of sappiness on all its glory.

 

 

**Title:** The first, and first, and first, and last and only.

**Author:** Nemesi.

**Fandom:** Captain America: The First Avenger

**Genre:** Fluff. Romance. Angst.

**Word Count:** 1400 circa.

**Characters:** Steve Rogers (pre and post serum), Bucky Barnes.

**Pairings:** Steve/Bucky.

**Rating:** mostly PG-13.

**Disclaimer:** Marvel owns my soul, and also all the characters and themes herein portrayed. I'm putting everything back inside Marvel's sandbox as soon as I'm done playing with their toys.

**Warnings:** Self-betaed. Slash. F.L.U.F.F.. 'Cuz these two make me sappy. Terribly sappy. I apologize for the sappity sappiness of this sappy piece of _sap_.

**Continuity:** Movieverse, definitely.

**Summary:** Their first kiss came in multiples.

 

 

* * * * *

 

**1.**

 

The first kiss between James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Rogers is _an accident._

Or rather, not quite an accident, as much as overzealousness on James' part.

He had read somewhere – or more, probably, he'd been told by one of those sailors cumbering the market every other Sunday – that when someone is drowning, you can't count yourself a good man unless you go put your mouth on theirs, be they a fellow or a dame, and _force_ the air back in their body.

Now, James had never heard or read (or be told) of people drowning on dry land, but that's exactly what the new kid from the orphanage was doing – gripping his chest, mouthing like a dying fish and turning more and more blue by the second.

Even at thirteen, James was already a good man (not to mention he had this _name_ to himself, of always acting before thinking things through). So he leapt, caught the kid by the matchsticks he had instead of proper arms, pushed their mouths together, and _blew._

The kid swayed into him like a clumsy dancer and gripped onto James's arms, eyes going as wide as saucers over his rapidly flushing cheeks. A beat. Two. Then the knot in his chest began to ease – his lungs expanded with precious air, and all of a sudden, the crisis was over and done with.

For a moment, they lingered there (on tiptoes, though they could never explain _that_ part, even to themselves), their mouths touching, breath streaming from one to the other and back.

When they moved away, James tilted his head curiously, gave Steve an once over, and blinked quickly.

“You done drowning?”

As if to test that theory, Steve opened his mouth wide and gulped down a huge breath. He held it in, blew it out slowly, and yup, his lungs were done with their rioting act.

“I... uh... I _think_ so.”

“Good.”

“Err... thanks?”

Bucky nodded solemnly, said: “don't mention it”, but they didn't let go of each other for a little while more.

 

 

 

**2.**

 

The first kiss between Steve and Bucky, according to the latter, happened a few seasons later; and it was a sticky, _sticky_ affair.

At nine, Coney Island had been a place for joy and laughter and awesome games of tag.

At sixteen, it's where you went if you wanted some time alone with your sweetheart. Only, it wasn't Jean the Irish sweetie, or lovely Patty from the orphanage, or Kelly with the golden curls that Bucky religiously took to Coney Island every other Saturday at dusk, that magical hour when the light glints off the crashing waves and you can get a discount on the spun sugar if you purchase two sodas with it.

When Bucky leaned in, Steve's mouth was sticky under his own, and overtly sweet. It was a bit disappointing yes, not being able to taste anything but the raw sugar from their threats. But Steve sort of fell into him, both careful and determined in that way that defined his every move; he slipped his arms around Bucky's waist and angled his head _just so_ , demanding more _._

It was warm where their mouths touched (fumbled), and it tingled. Steve's chest hitched after too short a while, and he had to move away or risk dying. He grinned apologetically up at Bucky, cheeks flushed and breathing as hard as if he'd been running a marathon.

Bucky put an arm around his shoulder, smiling down at him, and offered Steve a sip of soda.

 

 

 

**3.**

 

The first kiss between Bucky and Captain America tasted of smoke.

Their lips were cracked, tender. Sore. Dry and rough, their mouths chafed together as they kissed, a hint of blood seeping in when the skin finally gave under the pressure.

Captain America found he didn't care about any of that.

The coppery undertaste of blood wasn't something he would have ever put in any of his fantasies, and somehow this knowledge worked to make everything all the more real, to make every sensation sharper, deeper, _better._

The ragged noise of Bucky's breath, the taste and smell of him, his hot skin, his rough hands, the thrumming pulse of his heart beating like the hooves of a wild stallion against Captain America's reaching hands. Every little detail came together, slow, then faster, hope and wishful thinking shifting gradually into the wonderful, wonderful realization: Bucky was there. Bucky was alive. With him.

Suddenly, their combined weight became too much for Captain America to bear. They fell onto their knees, heads bent, like men intent on prayer. A breath passed between them, and then teeth clashed again, and there was the tang of salt now, under the sweetness of blood – tears or sweat, his own or Bucky's, Captain America wasn't sure; but it made him yank Bucky deeper into his own, trembling chest.

His throat felt raw. His voice hoarse when he ground out, over the sound of distant explosions and fire and bullets and _death:_ “I thought I'd lost you.”

Bucky made a face of sorrow, lunged for Captain America's mouth again and again, seeking for Steve's familiar taste. It was there; and when he found it, Bucky clung tightly to every little thing it brought back to mind.

 

 

 

**0.**

 

The first kiss between Captain America and the Winter Soldier is inexplicably _soft._

Their mouths barely brush together, hot breath puffing gently against hesitant lips. The Winter Soldier's lips are softer than Steve remembers Bucky's own ever being. They're fuller, somehow; smooth as petals. And trembling, too. But warm and dry.

When Captain America presses, the Winter Soldier yields without a sound. Inside, his mouth tastes cool and tingly, peppermint-fresh, like something chemically sweet. It tastes clean – no, _cleansed_. Artificial, like the arm shifting under Captain America's fingers, flexing between their chests, fingers splaying open against Captain America's neck, thumb nudging carefully into the pulse point.

Instead than moving away from danger, Captain America pushes into the touch. Presses the Winter Soldier against the wall slowly, _slowly._ Blanketing him, so that little by little it's not just their mouths that are touching, but also their chests, thighs, groins, knees. He shifts the angle, breathes deep – and the scent of gunpowder and leather and sweat floods his nostrils. Nothing artificial here, only a warm body, war-seasoned, weapons and perspiration and the earthy touch of something hot and dark, like pain and vexation.

His mind flashes back. Back to times of war, to bombed ruins; debris digging into his shoulder blades, sweaty skin that tastes salty under his mouth; fingers clenched tight in his hair, splayed against his heart, and his own name, chocked out, over and again. Steve. Steve. _My Steve._

The Winter Soldier starts suddenly, and the rifle slips from his hand, landing with a clatter across Captain America's long-discarded shield.

“ _S...te..?”_

Captain America makes a choked sound, low and gravely in the back of his throat. Pushes the Winter Soldier deeper into the wall behind them, feels the Winter Soldier's body adapt instinctively to the shape of his own, shifting to accommodate his weight, his bulk.

He's tense like a cat, the Winter Soldier; but his skin is rapidly getting warmer to the touch, and flushed. He's pressing back now, confused still, hesitant but searching – as though there was a hint of something inside Captain America's mouth that he finds familiar, and he's trying to reacquaint himself with it.

It takes a few moments, but then he breathes: “Steve?” a second time, confusion mingling with horror now, and Captain America thinks back to the taste of sugar and of sea-salt, remembers how it felt to be drowning on dry land, held within arms that trembled just as much as his own did. He remembers the touch of lips breathing life back into him, and piercing ice-grey eyes looking right into his own the same as they are doing now.

He chokes back a sob.

“ _Bucky._ ”

“Oh Lord, _Steve_ — where — what...? What _have I_...?”

Steve folds his arms around Bucky, hides his face in the crook of Bucky's neck, crooning deep within his throat like a wounded beast.

“I've got you. I've got you now, Bucky. _Everything's going to be all right._ ”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have an handful of lines written for a post-recovery scene, but it's been so long, I don't what I wanted to do with them.


End file.
